As Cold As Any Stone
by ellijay
Summary: Gap filler for "The Darkest Hour Part 1" - during and after the Samhain feast.
1. Burdens

"As Cold As Any Stone" by ellijay

Summary: Gap filler for "The Darkest Hour Part 1" – starting with Merlin's collapse at the Samhain feast and ending a short while before his conversation with Gaius about what he saw there.

Author's notes: Although I've written fanfiction in other fandoms in the past, this is my first foray into writing in the world of Merlin, or at least the first one I've posted. I've had a few longer stories in the works for a while, but after seeing the first episode of series four, I was inspired to write something a bit shorter before I get back to finishing the others. That's assuming I don't get distracted by something else in the current series. If the rest of the eps are as good as this one, that might be inevitable.

This story is already completed apart from some polishing, four parts in all, so I'll be posting them Tuesday through Friday in the run-up to "The Darkest Hour Part 2" on Saturday. I hope it helps to tide some of you over until then!

Chapter 1 – "Burdens"

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><p>Midnight on Samhain, the castle bell tolling the hour, and Arthur raised his goblet in tribute to the king. Merlin had written a fine speech, there was no denying that, and had even had the decency not to look smug while Arthur was delivering it. Actually, he'd looked a bit dazed, but that was probably down to sheer fatigue. It had been a very long day, the culmination of the last few hectic days of preparations for the feast. Then Merlin had gone and given up a night of sleep just to save Arthur a bit of trouble in composing something meaningful to say to the assembled guests.<p>

It was ridiculous, really. He was a prince, after all. He should be able to spout nonsense at a whim purely by birthright. He was more than able to give a rousing speech to his men before a battle or make eloquent statements about honor and justice, but when it came to matters of ceremony, he often found himself tongue-tied. Over the past year, though, he'd discovered that Merlin was surprisingly well-educated, probably due to living in close quarters with Gaius and his massive collection of books. He also had a knack for words, at least when he had the opportunity to work them out ahead of time. He was still a bumbling fool more often than not when asked an unexpected question.

Dozens of voices echoed back Arthur's acknowledgment of the absent king, but then a loud clanging abruptly silenced them. His eyes automatically went to the source of the disruption. Merlin. He'd dropped the pitcher he'd been holding. Not from clumsiness, though. He was standing very still, staring straight ahead but with unfocussed eyes. And then he dropped to the floor.

Arthur felt a surge of worry mixed with guilt. Perhaps a bit of embarrassment as well. It wasn't the first time in the past year Merlin had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, but never so dramatically or so publicly. As manservant to the Regent, his workload had increased considerably, but he also seemed determined to take as many responsibilities as possible from his master's overburdened shoulders, and then some. Arthur had warned him time and time again to take better care of himself, to not drive himself so hard to do things that weren't even technically his responsibility, but he rarely listened. Ears so ridiculously big, but they apparently only worked selectively.

Predictably, Lancelot was the first to leap to his feet and rush to Merlin's side. The two had some kind of bond that Arthur couldn't quite figure out, almost as if they were brothers, with Lancelot playing the role of the older, protective sibling. More often than not, when trouble was afoot, Lancelot was there, watching out for Merlin. It was something Arthur had precious little time to do these days. He supposed he should be grateful to Lancelot, and he was, truly, but it still pained him, that bit of extra distance between himself and Merlin of late. They still had their moments of strange camaraderie, but they were less frequent now than in the past.

He felt the urge to go over and see if Merlin had injured himself with his sudden descent to the floor. It had happened so quickly, one slow moment of his head tipping back and his eyes rolling upwards, and then he was down. There'd been no one and nothing to break his fall. Arthur held himself back, though. He was under more scrutiny now as Regent than ever before in his life, and it wouldn't do for him to show undue concern for something as relatively minor as a servant fainting. He no longer had the freedom to arrange his personal priorities as he felt best and to occasionally flout his father's desires in the process. Now he was the one creating policy, and a heavy set of expectations went along with it.

Gaius was there now in any event, stooping down to press his fingers to Merlin's neck, lay a hand to his forehead, pull his eyelids up and peer into his eyes. He exchanged a few muttered words with Lancelot, then the knight was hefting Merlin's unconscious weight to his shoulder and leaving the room. Gaius paused to give a slight nod to Arthur. He didn't seem overly troubled, just his usual determined self when performing his duties as court physician. He and Lancelot would see that Merlin received whatever care and attention he needed. Arthur would go to check on him later, of course, but for now he needed to stay here and quell the rumors that were undoubtedly already being born in the hushed conversations around the room. It didn't take much out of the ordinary, especially at such a large gathering as a banquet, for there to be all manner of farfetched stories circulating the next day.

Even before Gaius had entirely left the room, Arthur held up a hand for silence, the unspoken command quickly obeyed. Now that he had everyone's attention, though, he wasn't quite sure what to say. The first thought that came to mind was to make a disparaging comment about Merlin being a delicate creature who obviously needed his beauty rest, but that would be entirely too cruel. It was all well and good to taunt him when it was just the two of them or maybe a few of the knights as well. At least then Merlin could feel reasonably free to give as good as he got, but to mock him in front of the entire court, particularly when he wasn't even there, was unconscionable.

Rescue came from a completely unexpected quarter as Gwaine cleared his throat and said wryly, "You really should pay your manservant more, Sire, the way you work him until he literally falls over."

Uncertain laughter rippled around the tables and there were a few disapproving frowns at Gwaine's forthrightness, but that would probably always be the case, no matter how often the knight proved himself. The same went for the other knights who were not of noble birth. Arthur, though, had come to have a great deal of respect for Gwaine, irreverent though he was, and was more than willing to take the opportunity he'd offered.

"So will you be giving up some of your pay to make that possible, Sir Gwaine?" he asked, making sure his tone and expression were amused so that no one would mistake his words for a reprimand. He absolutely hated how careful he frequently had to be these days with his words and how he said them, but it was unfortunately necessary. Misinterpretation could be an insidious beast.

Gwaine made a humming sound and stroked his chin as if in thought, then he grinned cheekily and said, "Perhaps a token of your appreciation for his hard work would suffice, say a platter of this fine food and a flagon of this even finer wine?" He stood and gathered up the serving tray and pitcher in front of him. "In fact, I think I'll deliver it myself." He started to leave the table, then paused to add, "With your permission, of course, Sire." He bowed his head deferentially. He'd learned to play the role of a knight surprisingly well in the past year, at least at court. In the barracks and on the training fields, he was still the same impossible braggart, albeit one who could usually back up his claims.

Arthur nodded his permission, wishing he could leave as well, but that would effectively end the banquet before it was even half over. Too much preparation had gone into this event to dismiss it so quickly. Merlin wasn't the only one who had been working ridiculously long hours to ensure the evening had the proper balance of solemn honor towards those who had gone before and celebration for their contributions made in life.

"Please, enjoy your meals," he said in a raised and steady voice, a slight smile forced onto his face and his hand held open to the side in a gracious gesture. Then he settled back into his own chair, picked up his goblet and motioned for a servant to refill it.

His Uncle Agravaine leaned over the empty seat between them and said quietly, under the din of resumed chatter around the hall, "I must say, Arthur, that I do approve of your selection of knights, despite what opinion others may have about them. They bring a breath of fresh air to the court."

Arthur nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Uncle. I'm glad that others can appreciate them as I do."

"Indeed," Agravaine replied as he turned his attention back to his own plate, tucking in to generous helpings of roast meat and harvest vegetables.

Arthur, however, had lost his appetite, at least partly because of the feeling that he absolutely was the prat Merlin often accused him of being, this time for not noticing how tired his servant must've been. He'd seemed fine this morning, though, his usual chipper, irritating self. Something to address later, he supposed. The main cause of his distraction was now the vacant chair beside him. At this time last year, just before Morgana's betrayal, it had been occupied by its rightful owner. Uther had given the speech, undoubtedly his own words. Now he had few words for anyone, even his own son. Arthur had an uneasy feeling that come next Samhain, Uther Pendragon would be remembered among the departed, and he hated himself for feeling that might be a blessing.


	2. A Friend in Need

Chapter 2 – "A Friend in Need"

When Gwaine arrived at Gaius's chambers, he found Lancelot fumbling through the shelves of medicines and squinting at labels. So Merlin hadn't simply passed out then. He set the platter and pitcher he'd carried all the way from the banquet hall down on a table. Not likely Merlin would be enjoying the food anytime soon, judging from the worried frown on Lancelot's face.

Gwaine took off his cloak and tossed it on Gaius's desk. He noticed Lancelot's was hanging over the edge of one of the work tables and looked to be close to slithering off onto the floor. He walked over and pulled it back onto the tabletop then ducked his head to look up the stairs into Merlin's room. He could see Gaius spreading a blanket over the bed, presumably to cover Merlin. "What's going on?" he asked hesitantly.

Lancelot didn't answer his question, keeping his attention on his task as he distractedly said, "There should be blankets in the cupboard in the corner. Gaius needs them."

Gwaine frowned but went over and opened the door of what he thought was the correct cupboard and found a pile of several blankets. "How many does he want?"

"Take all of them, whatever's there."

Gwaine did as he was told without further comment. A feeling of foreboding was settling over him, and it was not allayed in the slightest when he climbed the stairs to the upper room with the requested blankets gathered in his arms. Merlin was lying still and silent on his bed, his face so pale that even his lips were drained of color. There was no movement beneath his eyelids to tell of sleep, and the rise and fall of his chest was barely perceptible.

Gaius was leaning over the bed, brushing the hair tenderly away from Merlin's forehead, but when he glanced over and saw Gwaine standing there, he straightened up and said, "Ah. I see you escaped from the banquet."

"You know me, Gaius," he replied, his tone light, although he felt anything but. "Merlin calls – or falls – and I'm there. I'm just sorry I wasn't in the right place to catch him this time. It's usually stairs that get him."

Gaius gave a faint huff of laughter, but quickly returned to the matter at hand. "You can set the blankets down on that chair, and then if you wouldn't mind helping me spread them over Merlin? He needs all the warmth we can give him."

Gwaine nodded and walked around the bed, to the opposite side from Gaius, and set the stack of blankets down, keeping his eyes on Merlin the entire time. "What's wrong with him?" he asked warily as he absentmindedly took the top blanket off the pile and began to unfold and shake it out.

"I'm not sure, but he's cold as ice," Gaius replied, reaching over to take an edge of the blanket and helping to settle and tuck it around Merlin.

Now Gwaine was thoroughly confused. Even though it was well into autumn and there was certainly a nip in the air, it wasn't anything like what would be needed to chill someone so severely. He set aside his questions for the moment, though, and simply concentrated on layering another blanket over Merlin.

After that blanket was done, Gaius looked towards the outer chamber and called out impatiently, "I need that hawthorn now, Lancelot."

"I can't find it," came the answer, strained and full of frustration. It wasn't like Lancelot to lose his composure. Gwaine wondered if there was something he wasn't being told. Then again, Lancelot and Merlin had developed quite a strong friendship over the past year, so it made sense he would be worried. Gwaine wondered what it meant that he himself felt relatively calm. Maybe it was simply that Merlin always seemed to bounce back, no matter what happened to him. It was difficult to imagine him ever giving up or giving in, not to anyone or anything.

Gaius blew out a long and noisy breath. "Finish up with this, would you please, Gwaine? Then see if you can get a fire going in the hearth. I think there's some wood in the basket." He turned and left then, presumably to fetch the hawthorn himself, whatever that was needed for.

As soon as Gaius was gone, Gwaine reached out to lay the back of his hand against Merlin's cheek. He hadn't wanted to do that while Gaius was in the room. It might seem too much like morbid curiosity. But who was he trying to fool? It was exactly that.

One brief touch, and he pulled his hand away. Gaius hadn't been exaggerating, but there was probably a better analogy for Merlin's condition than ice. Ice was hard and unforgiving. Merlin's cheek, although unnaturally cold, wasn't frozen. It still yielded slightly to pressure. He was more like a corpse, newly dead, but deceased for long enough that the warmth of life had almost completely fled.

Gwaine went back to unfolding, spreading and tucking blankets with a vengeance. Living people needed warmth. The dead were beyond such things. Merlin was still here and alive and he was going to stay that way. Gwaine refused to consider any other outcome.

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><p>Lancelot gladly moved away to allow Gaius to rifle through the shelves of medicines while he redirected his efforts to checking what was on the work tables, looking for anything that might be a finished remedy and possibly the one they needed. He was utterly frustrated at being unable to find something as basic as a vial of hawthorn. He thought he'd come to know where most everything was located in Gaius's chambers through the many visits he'd made over the past year, more often than not to drag Merlin back from some misadventure or other he'd persuaded Lancelot to go on without Arthur's knowledge.<p>

Their purpose was usually to track down and eliminate some sort of magical threat to Camelot or its people, and as a result, there tended to be a good deal of hurried bandaging and liberal dosing with various remedies afterwards in order to get Merlin back on his feet with the prince hopefully none the wiser. Lancelot could explain any injuries away as training mishaps, but Merlin's plausible excuses were somewhat limited to clumsiness and freak accident. A few times they'd resorted to claiming he was suffering from exhaustion, which actually wasn't too difficult to believe considering the ever-growing responsibilities that were falling to him these days.

There would be no more of Merlin playing the hidden and selfless savior, though, if they didn't manage to bring him out of the state he was in now. Lancelot couldn't help but think this was unsettlingly similar to the Hunger Moon Fever that had struck last midwinter. Merlin had worked himself to the brink of collapse by lending a great deal of assistance to Gaius in caring for the ill in addition to his regular duties. He'd even made a concerted effort to use healing magic on the sicker patients, something that had apparently been elusive for him the past, but that hadn't stopped him from trying.

He'd eventually, predictably, come down with the fever himself. It wasn't a pleasant illness in general, congestion and aches, chills and nausea, but Merlin had been utterly spent by the time he'd taken ill and as a result had suffered considerably more than was usual. He'd come alarmingly close to dying when the congestion had moved into his lungs. Arthur had been ill at the same time and so had been unaware of the dire state of his servant's health. As far as Lancelot was aware, no one had ever informed him, mostly at Merlin's urging. Arthur likely would've been angry he hadn't been told, even though there was nothing he could've done. More than that, though, Lancelot suspected Merlin had been worried if Arthur had known, he would've begun watching him more closely, which would make it far more difficult to steal away to thwart magical threats.

Lancelot was pulled from the spin of his thoughts by Gwaine coming halfway down the stairs from Merlin's room. "I don't suppose you've got any spare alcohol down here, do you, Gaius?"

Lancelot stared at him, as did Gaius. Now hardly seemed the time to be thinking about having a nip.

"Why are you two looking at me like that?" Gwaine asked defensively. "It's to get the fire started. There's no tinder or kindling up here, just a few split logs, and I think Merlin might be rather put out with me if I resort to burning one of his books."

Lancelot immediately felt guilty about making assumptions about Gwaine's intent. Really, he wasn't the drunk some people seemed to think he was. He was undeniably fond of taverns, but he claimed he frequented them more for the entertainment, which presumably included gambling, arm-wrestling, brawls and pretty barmaids. There was also the allure of stories told by tongues which had been loosened by too much mead and wine. Sometimes it was just lurid gossip, which Gwaine delighted in recounting in detail, but there were times when he brought back useful information from a late-night jaunt.

Gaius seemed to be ignoring Gwaine and had moved on to rummaging in a cupboard against the wall by the stairs, so Lancelot asked, "What about the wine you brought with you?"

"Medicinal alcohol would be better. Wine's not as flammable."

Lancelot refrained from asking how he knew that. It would probably be a convoluted tale, undoubtedly entertaining as Gwaine's stories usually were, but now was not the time for such things.

"Gaius," Gwaine prompted, a bit of impatience in his voice. "It's alcohol or the books."

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," Gaius said irritably. He reached back into the depths of the cabinet he'd been searching, pulled out a medium-sized bottle of clear liquid and thrust it at Gwaine. He held onto the bottle after Gwaine took hold of it, though, and pointed a finger at him. "Really, do _not_ drink any of it, unless you want to be knocked blind for the next several hours."

"Gaius," Gwaine said sweetly with a disarming smile. "You think I don't know that?"

Gaius finally let go of the bottle and went back to his search for the truant hawthorn, muttering, "I don't doubt it. Probably from experience."

Gwaine, though, had already disappeared back into Merlin's room, grumbling about people not keeping their fire supplies stocked, and it was a good thing he knew how to improvise. Lancelot snorted. Of course Merlin didn't need tinder or kindling. He could start a fire with a single word. Lancelot had witnessed him setting an entire tree ablaze in an instant with just a handful of words. Unfortunately, it had been a pine. It hadn't ended well.

A frown crept over his face as he realized his mind seemed intent on wandering off into memories, as if he were paying some kind of Samhain homage to Merlin. He wasn't dead yet, though, and wouldn't be if Lancelot had anything to say about it. The moment of bravado faded as he reminded himself that he usually had very little control over what Merlin did or the results.

He shook his head to clear the unpleasant thoughts. Maybe he should go and join Gwaine to see if there was anything he could do up there since he wasn't being of much use where he was. He was stopped by Gaius pulling a vial out of the cabinet. "Aha! Hawthorn!" he declared as he closed his hand tightly around it. "I must've put it away with the alcohol the last time I made a tincture."

Gaius took a few steps towards the stairs to Merlin's room, leaving the cupboard door hanging open, but then turned back towards Lancelot. "There's a couple of bricks on the floor over by the door. Bring them up and we'll warm them by the fire, then put them in the bed with Merlin. I doubt he's making much of his own body heat right now."

Lancelot nodded and started to go and fetch the bricks, but then he noticed Gaius wasn't moving. He was staring at something on one of the tables, his eyes blinking rapidly. Lancelot looked and saw it was a piece of parchment with writing in what he knew to be Merlin's hand. "It'll be all right, Gaius," he said gently. "He'll be fine."

"Yes," Gaius said faintly, glancing at Lancelot with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Yes, of course." He didn't seem entirely convinced, but nodded slightly, turned and went up the stairs.


	3. On the Verge

Chapter 3 – "On the Verge"

"Bloody hell!" Gwaine yelped as the flames leapt up from the alcohol-doused logs much higher than he'd expected. He quickly scooted away from the hearth and blew out the taper he'd used to light the fire, then watched anxiously from where he'd landed on the floor, several feet away. He was poised to snatch one of the blankets off Merlin's bed to smother the logs if need be, but fortunately the flames quickly receded and settled into a more normal fire. He gave a sigh of relief and dragged a hand through his hair.

Gaius's voice came from behind him, over near the door. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't burn the place down, Gwaine."

He cringed for a moment, then pushed himself up from the floor and turned to face Gaius. "Sorry. I guess I shouldn't have used the whole bottle. Been a while since I've done that. Last time I nearly scorched my eyebrows off."

Gaius gave him a vaguely disapproving look and shook his head, then turned his attention to Merlin as he walked over to the bed and sat in the chair beside it. He had a vial of medicine in one hand, presumably the hawthorn, and what looked like a tapered glass tube in the other.

Gwaine surreptitiously ran his fingers over his eyebrows, just to be sure they were still intact – they were – and went to stand next to Gaius at Merlin's bedside. Gaius had slipped the narrow end of the strange tube between Merlin's lips and was carefully pouring a bit of the medicine into it. Gwaine watched as the blackish-green liquid slid down and disappeared into Merlin's mouth. The stuff looked positively foul. He figured it was probably lucky for Merlin that he wasn't awake to taste it.

Once all the medicine had trickled through the tube, Gaius removed it and put it down on a cloth lying on his lap. He put the stopper back into the vial and held it in his hand, but did nothing more. He must be waiting to see if the hawthorn did whatever it was supposed to do.

Gwaine stood silently beside him, but there was no immediately apparent change. "Doesn't he need to swallow it?" he asked, wondering if that was why there didn't seem to be any effect.

"No," Gaius replied. "It's a tincture, herbs infused into alcohol, very concentrated. Just a bit under the tongue, and the tissues there absorb it."

Gwaine saw something moving out of the corner of his eye and looked over towards the door. Lancelot was standing there with a brick in either hand. What on earth he was going to do with those, Gwaine had no idea, but he quickly figured it out as Lancelot went over to the fire and put the bricks close to the base of the logs. Of course. Something to help warm Merlin up. Probably better than the shared body heat method. He doubted there was enough room in that bed for two, nor did he think Merlin would appreciate waking up with Gwaine, Lancelot or, heaven forbid, Gaius pressed up against him.

That bed probably wasn't even large enough for two people who _wanted_ to be cozy. Merlin likely wouldn't be sneaking any pretty lasses up here, not that he'd be so brash as to do so right upstairs from where Gaius slept. Or have the time to even think about girls, much less have a tumble with one. Gwaine was hard pressed to think of more than perhaps a dozen times in an entire year when he'd seen Merlin not working in some way, and half of those he'd been asleep, ill or knocked out cold.

Finally there was a reaction from Merlin, but not a very impressive one. He simply moaned a bit and turned his head to the side.

Gaius leaned over him and called to him quietly. "Merlin?" When there was no response, he laid his hand on Merlin's forehead, then patted his cheek gently. "Merlin? Can you hear me?" Still nothing.

"Should we try something else?" Lancelot asked from where he was standing by the fire, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked somewhat apprehensive, but his voice was well-controlled and matter-of-fact. His posture was strangely relaxed, as if he'd done something like this before, maybe more than once. One more little piece of the puzzle Gwaine had been trying to figure out since he'd become a knight. Even before that, really. There was something odd going on, and it seemed to center around Merlin.

Gwaine had suspicions he was a sorcerer, but that seemed as insane at times as it seemed utterly plausible at others. If it were true, Merlin had to be a special kind of crazy to have been sitting square in the shadow of execution all this time. On the days when he was convinced Merlin actually did have magic, Gwaine's opinion of the situation careened from feeling terrified for Merlin's safety, to admiring him for possibly being even more reckless than he himself was, to being absolutely awed that such a humble exterior might be hiding something extraordinary. Plus he thought it was utterly barking mad to expect to go on winning out over magical threats without having the same on your side, so if Merlin was the one to fill that role, bless him and keep him for it.

Gaius shook his head. "This is really the best option. I might not have given him enough. That was a fairly large dose, but this is an extreme situation. I'll try a bit more." He repeated the procedure with the glass tube, then wrapped it in the cloth and held it and the vial out towards Gwaine. "Would you take that and put it on the desk? I don't want to give him any more right now. It might do more harm than good."

Gwaine took the items from Gaius's hand and turned to put them on the small table Merlin used as a desk, but fumbled and nearly dropped them when a sharp gasp and a ragged, heaving intake of breath came from behind him. He quickly emptied the contents of his hands onto the desktop and spun around to find Merlin gagging and coughing, his forehead creased and his limbs moving fitfully under the blankets.

"What's wrong?" Gwaine asked urgently as he knelt down beside the bed, wanting to do something to soothe Merlin but not sure if he should even touch him.

"It's just the medicine taking effect," Gaius said softly. He reached over and gently stroked Merlin's forehead. "Shh, my boy. It's all right. You're going to be fine."

Merlin gradually settled, his breathing slowing and easing and his face relaxing again. His body went still as well, but at least there seemed to be a hint of color coming back into his face. Or maybe that was just Gwaine's hopeful imagination. Or a trick of the firelight.

"There. That's better," Gaius said as he sat back in his chair. Gwaine wasn't sure if he was still talking to Merlin or reassuring himself, or possibly making a comment for his and Lancelot's benefit. The next thing he said, though, was definitely for Gwaine. "Thank you for your help. I do appreciate it, truly, but you'd probably better get back to the feast before Arthur starts to worry overly much."

Gwaine frowned and looked from Gaius's impassive face over to Lancelot, who now had his head bowed and eyes fixed on the floor. He felt a bit irked at being dismissed and wondered why he was the only one being told to leave. Combine that with the fact that the usually open and honest Lancelot didn't seem to want to look him in the eye, and he was brought back to his earlier suspicion that there was something else going, right here and now, and it might just be tied to the larger mystery he'd been trying to figure out. "What are you two hiding from me?" he asked slowly.

"Nothing, Gwaine," Gaius said with a slow shake of his head. There was tension in his face, but all that Gwaine could see in his eyes was weariness, no sign of deception. So either there was nothing being kept from him, at least not at the moment, or Gaius was very good at lying. Well, of course he was good at lying, rather talented in fact. Gwaine had seen a few examples of that in the past year and was quite impressed with the old man's facility. The question was whether or not he was doing it now.

"I really have no idea what happened," Gaius added, bringing the vagueness of larger secrets back to the specifics of the current situation. Very well played, Gwaine thought. If he was being played. His head was starting to hurt from trying to figure it out. The wine might have something to do with that too. "Merlin might be able to tell us more when he wakes up, but that might not be for a while. There's really no reason for you to wait here. Lancelot can help me with whatever I might need."

Gwaine glanced over at Lancelot, who was now busying himself with shifting the bricks he'd set near the fire, nudging them away and turning them around, presumably to warm them through and not overheat them.

Gwaine blew out a gusty breath, admitting defeat, or rather a willingness to retreat for the time being. It wouldn't do anyone any good to stand here arguing, not to mention that Gaius and Lancelot seemed to be thick as thieves at the moment and not likely to start spilling truths when they were so concerned about Merlin's state of health. There would be yelling if Gwaine continued to pursue this, or Lancelot might just maneuver him right out of the room. He and Gwaine were fairly well-matched in strength and bulk, but Lancelot was damned cunning with his footwork.

"You're sure Merlin's going to be all right?" he asked, perversely wanting to give one final show of resistance before giving in and leaving, but he really did want the reassurance as well.

"I believe he will be," Gaius said calmly, and that seemed to be the truth. "I'll send word to you if anything changes."

Gwaine nodded and got to his feet, but then Merlin drew in a long, shuddering breath and a tremor ran through his body. There was a pause before he exhaled, and then he started shivering violently. It was the most intense display of such a thing that Gwaine had ever seen and consequently extremely upsetting, particularly because it was his friend that was suffering.

"You mean a change like that?" he snapped, the sense of panic he was feeling translating into accusation.

Gaius, however, looked strangely relieved, and a let out a long, unsteady sigh. "This is a good thing. It means he's warming up." He reached out and pulled the edge of the topmost blanket a little further up under Merlin's chin.

"How does shivering mean he's warming up?" Gwaine asked, back into the realm of confusion once again. He was spending far too much time there tonight. It was getting annoying.

It was Lancelot who answered, though. "When a person is caught out in the cold, without shelter or fire, the heat is leeched out of his body. It can happen very quickly." He paused and swallowed, and Gwaine had the feeling he'd either seen it happen or had been in such a situation himself in the past. "At first he shivers. His body fights to retain its warmth. But if there is no relief from the cold, his body gradually stills. At that point he is very near to death and has little hope of recovery."

"Well, that's terribly reassuring, Sunshine," Gwaine said sarcastically, trying to ignore the knot of fear that was twisting in his stomach at hearing things like 'death' and 'little hope of recovery'. He'd had no idea the situation was so dire. But Merlin was out of that stage, presumably, since he was now shivering. "Only Merlin wasn't outside," he muttered, mostly to himself. "The banquet hall was warm. Not so much as a draft of cold air."

"I know, Gwaine," Gaius replied, "and that's a mystery. But as I said, we won't likely be any closer to answers until Merlin tells us himself what happened. Which assumes _he_ even has any idea. He might be just as in the dark as we are."

"But he's going to be all right now," Gwaine said, somewhat plaintively. It was halfway between a question and a statement, and he felt a bit like a petulant child for wanting yet another confirmation that all would be well.

"Yes, Gwaine," Gaius said. "He's going to be fine." There was a glimmering of tears in his eyes that hadn't been there before, probably an expression of relief, as though Gaius hadn't been sure himself until now and had been maintaining his composure only by the slimmest of margins. "As soon as we've got him completely warmed up, he should be able to sleep well and deeply. He'll likely be up and about again in the morning, if not before. He's accustomed to not getting much sleep."

There was a hint of resignation in Gaius's voice. Gwaine wondered if Merlin's lack of regular sleep was due to his workload or some other concerns that plagued him. There were numerous occasions when he'd seen odd expressions on Merlin's face when he'd apparently thought no one was looking. Sadness, anxiety, anger, other deeper things that Gwaine wasn't able to put a name to. Probably part and parcel of this damnable, overarching strangeness.

"Right. I'll just head back over to the banquet hall, then," he said, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get any closer to the truth tonight. He flicked one more glance around the room, from Merlin shivering in his bed, to Gaius looking as if he'd gladly trade places with his ward, to Lancelot with his eyes once more averted. "I'll leave the food and wine in case either of you gets peckish or Merlin wakes up and doesn't mind roast venison for breakfast."

"Merlin doesn't mind roast venison any time of day," Gaius said with a hint of fondness. "It's one of his favorites."

Gwaine hadn't known that. He made a mental note to take the next hunt a bit more seriously. He'd even pass on the rabbits and pheasants and save his arrows for deer instead of firing at the first thing that moved just to get it over with. The world was minus more than a few squirrels because of him, and even Percival refused to eat those.

Gwaine left Gaius's chambers filled with lingering concern for his friend mixed with vexation that he was the one who would have to lie to Arthur about something that he didn't even understand himself. _Yes, Sire, Merlin's fine. He just needs a bit of a kip and he'll be right as rain. I expect he'll be back to being your dogsbody before you can say "idiot" three times._

Well, maybe he'd leave out the 'dogsbody' bit. Although it frequently nettled him that Arthur seemed to take Merlin for granted, Arthur might take offense at being called out so rudely. Gwaine really didn't want to be bludgeoned and whacked round the head multiple times the next time he faced Arthur on the training field. He might have to hurt the princess to make him stop.


	4. Out of the Dark

Chapter 4 – "Out of the Dark"

"I think Gwaine suspects something," Lancelot said, trying to distract himself from Merlin's condition. The tremors racking him were becoming more pronounced, and he was worried it would get worse before it got better. It hadn't even occurred to him before the shivering had started that whatever was affecting Merlin was akin to severe exposure to weather. Maybe he was just trying to avoid his own memories and so hadn't seen the correlation. He still had nightmares about the family he'd found stranded in the snow when he'd wandered far to the north two winters ago. A mother, father and two children. It had been too late to save them.

"You're probably right," Gaius replied, once again laying a comforting hand on Merlin's forehead. "He's much more observant and persistent than he lets on."

Lancelot couldn't deny that was true. He wondered if it might not be better to put an end to Gwaine's furtive efforts to uncover secrets before he became more overt and attracted attention. "Maybe we should just tell him," he said with a sigh. He couldn't help but think that if Gwaine knew, he'd be another person who could go out on Merlin's surreptitious forays to avert magical attacks. There might be fewer injuries that way. Safety in numbers.

Gaius quashed the suggestion with one simple statement. "That's Merlin's choice to make."

"Of course," Lancelot replied, casting his gaze down to the floor. He felt thoroughly chastised. His cheeks were getting warm, and it wasn't entirely from the heat rising from the fireplace. Then he realized he was starting to sweat, which definitely was a result of standing by the hearth. He pulled his tabard and chainmail together over his head and laid them on top of a chest in the corner. Then he returned to his station by the fire and stooped down to check the bricks. He quickly touched his hand to the top of one of them, just in case he'd left them too long, then rested his palm flat against the top surface once he knew it wasn't scorching hot. It was pleasantly warm, as if it had been lying in the sun on a summer's day. "The bricks are ready."

He started to pick them up, but Gaius stopped him by saying, "Leave them there for a moment. We should take his jacket off so the heat can get at his body more directly."

Lancelot stepped quickly around to the far side of the bed, across from Gaius, and helped him fold the blankets down. Merlin shuddered at the loss of the covers, even though the room was starting to warm up nicely. The hearth might be small, but it was sufficient for the size of the room and aided by the thickness of the castle walls. The heat would carry through the night even if the fire was allowed to burn down.

"Lift him up," Gaius instructed, and Lancelot slid his hands under Merlin's back and gently shifted him into a sitting position. He was relieved to find that although Merlin was still far from warm, he was no longer emitting waves of coldness as he had been when Lancelot had first knelt next to him in the banquet hall. He'd been able to feel the chill even through his chainmail as he'd carried Merlin to Gaius's quarters.

Between himself and Gaius, they got Merlin's jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. As they were working, Merlin's body stopped quaking for a moment. The tremors returned quickly, but they were suppressed now and accompanied by Merlin's voice, weak and stuttering. "What are you doing?" he mumbled. He gave up trying to keep himself from shaking and barely managed to add, "I'm so cold."

"I know, Merlin," Gaius said comfortingly as he laid his hand on Merlin's back and rubbed a few small circles there. "We're trying to get you warmed up."

Merlin nodded jerkily and whispered, "That's good."

Gaius pulled the jacket clear and tossed it down to the foot of the bed, then helped Lancelot lower Merlin gently back down. His eyes were half open, but they slid closed again as he slowly pulled his arms across his chest. It was probably more of an instinctive reaction to the cold he was feeling than a conscious effort, but at least it was movement.

"You can bring the bricks over now," Gaius said as he glanced over at Lancelot.

"Oh. Yes, of course." He'd been distracted by Merlin's rousing. He quickly went over to the hearth and brought the bricks back, one in each hand. They felt almost uncomfortably warm to him now, but they weren't near hot enough to burn and would probably feel wonderful to Merlin.

"Put one on each side of his chest," Gaius said, "right up against him."

As he carefully placed the bricks, Merlin flinched and groaned, then a hard series of shudders ran through his body. Lancelot was about to pull the bricks away, thinking they were too much of a contrast in temperature and perhaps causing pain, but then Merlin took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Feels good," he muttered. He was still shivering, but it seemed less pronounced now.

Lancelot and Gaius exchanged relieved glances and pulled the covers back up over Merlin. He shifted his legs and shimmied a bit, as if he was trying to burrow deeper into the blankets.

Lancelot felt a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, but then Merlin's forehead creased and he blinked his eyes open. "What happened?" he asked, turning his head slightly towards Gaius.

"We're not entirely certain, Merlin. We were hoping you could tell us," Gaius said as he tilted his head and peered intently at his ward.

Merlin was silent for a moment, his eyes vacantly staring. Lancelot hoped that was because he was trying to recall what had occurred in the banquet hall and not due to awareness abandoning him. Then Merlin sucked in a sharp breath and twitched his head rapidly, his eyes squeezing shut. Another round of intense quaking went through him, but it faded away after a moment. "Not sure," he mumbled. "Can't think. Tired."

Gaius patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Get some rest. You can tell me when you're feeling better."

Merlin didn't respond. His body was still trembling slightly, but his face was starting to relax and his breathing was becoming more even. Lancelot figured he'd probably be asleep soon, but he didn't want to leave just yet. "I'd like to sit with him for a while, if that's all right?" he asked Gaius.

"No," Merlin said in a rough but surprisingly firm voice. "Don't."

Lancelot was taken aback and started to protest, not knowing why Merlin would be so abruptly adamant about being left alone. Then it dawned on him that Merlin probably did remember what had happened to him and simply didn't want to talk about it just yet. It wouldn't be the first time he'd kept something disturbing to himself. If it was important to anyone but himself, he'd tell them soon enough.

He might also be worried he'd have a nightmare after falling asleep and didn't want anyone to witness it. That had happened once on a patrol, and he'd been mortified when the entire camp had been roused. He was so willing to share his cheerfulness and optimistic outlook, but his pain was his own, an intensely personal thing. He kept it carefully hidden, but it came to the surface every now and again. It was apparent to those who knew where to look.

"All right, Merlin," he said quietly. "I'll see you in the morning." He went over to the chest and gathered his tabard and chainmail, then started to leave, but Merlin called him back.

"Lancelot?" He had his eyes open again, and they held a glint of something deep and unsettled.

"Yes, Merlin?"

He paused for a moment, then simply said, "Thank you."

Either that was all he'd meant to say and he'd inadvertently let something else show through, or he'd been considering saying something else and had changed his mind. Either way, Lancelot accepted it. "You're welcome," he said sincerely, then added to himself, _Always, Merlin. Whatever you need._

He nodded to Gaius and went down the stairs, but he lingered in the outer chamber. He closed the cupboard door Gaius had left open earlier and stared at it for a moment before looking down at the floor. It simply wasn't fair, the weight that rested on Merlin's shoulders, the destiny that sometimes seemed more of a curse than a calling. It wasn't right that he had to hide who he was. He deserved to stand in the light, unashamed and unafraid.

Lancelot's thoughts drifted back to the first time he and Merlin had gone out on one of their clandestine adventures. There had been a griffin stealing livestock near the village of Mirren, but the creature was less than half-grown and thus much more easily dealt with than the one they'd faced on his first visit to Camelot. Merlin already knew the spell that was needed, and a simple spear had dispatched the beast quite handily. No need for a charging horse or a lance. It had been intensely satisfying to handle the threat with no one being killed, other than the griffin, and really, he'd earned his fate by killing off the livestock the people so desperately needed if they were to survive the winter. Merlin had come away with a slash to the back from the griffin's talons, gotten when he shoved Lancelot out of the way of the beast's thrashing death throes, but that proved to be fairly minor.

The truly memorable part of the day was seeing Merlin standing so tall and confident, casting a spell without needing to worry who was watching. It had given Lancelot a pang of joy in his heart, a thrill at witnessing something he knew to be rare and precious. It was that more than anything that made him willing to follow whenever Merlin asked. And then there had been the time Merlin had confessed he felt a kind of freedom in being able to stand side by side with someone who didn't believe he was a threat to the kingdom simply for possessing magic and would never betray him to the pyre or the axe.

Lately, though, Merlin was getting more and more careless with his magic. The incident with Arthur's shirt that morning was just one example. Lancelot felt a bit guilty that he'd encouraged Merlin with the comment about his talents, but he hadn't expected him to perform magic in the middle of a crowded hallway. He'd felt an icy chill in his guts when he'd heard the words he knew were a spell, purely from experience in hearing others like them. He'd done little more than raise an eyebrow when he'd turned back around, though, because he didn't want to draw undue attention by berating Merlin in the midst of so many people. He was beginning to wonder if he'd been doing his friend a disservice by giving him such an open outlet for his magic, and now caution was slipping even inside the castle walls.

At times the recklessness seemed innocent, like this morning, but there were occasions, usually when Arthur was in some kind of danger, when it seemed like something far more serious. Merlin had been using spells lately in the vicinity of others that weren't strictly necessary, particularly ones for making some kind of light. Never directly in front of others, at least not when he first cast the spell, but the potential for discovery was there. It was almost as if Merlin wanted to be caught, was so tired of hiding and lying that he would accept almost any consequences, even if it meant using his magic to escape the prison cell he'd be sure to end up in and going into hiding. If only he could use his gifts as they were meant, whenever they were needed. The restrictions he lived with, day by day, paradoxically put him in nearly as much jeopardy as having his secret known. There were times when Merlin simply could not use his magic, even to defend himself, because others were there, looking right at him, and would not be as understanding as Lancelot. Unfortunately, Arthur very well might number among those, and Lancelot believed that was more of a fear and sorrow to Merlin than almost anything else in his life.

The sound of the door to Merlin's room closing and footsteps on the stairs caught Lancelot's attention. He looked up to see Gaius descending. There was a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" Lancelot asked apprehensively, thinking something might have changed in the handful of minutes since he'd left the room.

"Nothing," Gaius replied as he reached the main floor. "At least nothing more than has already happened. I was making sure the fire was stoked. He's asleep now." He certainly seemed more troubled than his words would indicate. Maybe he was simply wondering what it was Merlin was keeping from them. He managed a brief smile for Lancelot, though, as he gripped his arm and said, "Thank you, Lancelot. You have no idea what a relief it is to me to have you looking out for Merlin."

"All this thanking!" he exclaimed, feeling the sudden need for a moment of levity. "It's really not necessary. I'm just doing what needs to be done."

"Of course you are," Gaius said, giving Lancelot's arm a quick squeeze before letting go. "But it still needs saying. It should be said, every chance we get, for all the times it goes unsaid."

Lancelot knew he was thinking of Merlin as he spoke. He glanced up towards the closed door at the top of the stairs, then looked back at Gaius. "Let me know if you need anything." He left unspoken what he was certain was understood: _If _he _needs anything. Anything at all. If it can be done, I will see it done._

He stopped on the way out to put on his cloak, but draped his tabard and chain mail over his arm. There was no point in putting it back on. He wasn't going to return to the banquet. He simply didn't have it in his heart to pretend that all was well with the world. Then he left, closing the door to Gaius's chambers behind him and quickly striding down the hall.

A chill went through him as he walked, and he stopped to look around uneasily. There was nothing apparent out of the ordinary, but he had a sudden, unaccountable feeling there was something lurking just beyond what he could see or feel. He didn't think it was his imagination. It was entirely possible Merlin already knew what it was, had seen some kind of omen as the midnight hour of Samhain had arrived. The fact that he didn't want to talk about it worried Lancelot more than almost anything else possibly could. It led him to believe they would all be tried and tested, possibly more than ever before. They might not all emerge unscathed this time.


End file.
